A Vanished Native

Jan. 5, 2016

Dear Diary:

Faith-shaking private experiences take place every day; the meaningful ones often go unnoticed. When it happens to you in New York City, count on even less fanfare for profound experiences in the tsunami wave of daily din.

Two and a half years ago, I fell in love with a man who embodied the persona of merciless self-determination described in Odyssey’s “Native New Yorker,” despite the subjective mismatch of genders.

What I loved was his take-no-prisoners grittiness, paired with his passionate need for affection and supreme taste in music. He saw through all the pretense and pruning that I feel new New Yorkers seem to favor. On the surface, it was the unlikeliest of loves. While our timing was imperfect, memories of him still cloud my days in light of this mystery:

He vanished one year ago, a veteran with post-traumatic stress disorder. Wholly devastating to all who knew him, he remains a missing person without any memorial or closure. Although detectives, I am told, are still on the case, it provides no comfort, as I am left to learn to live here anew.